Love & Other Four Letter Words
by RaeAnne
Summary: HCam, Cameron reflects on the lessons House has taught her and decides that the biggest lie she has ever told has been to herself. NEW CHAPTER 4.19.07 FINISHED
1. Liar

**TITLE:** Love & Other Four Letter Words  
**AUHTOR: **RaeAnne  
**RATING: PG-13 (language)  
SPOILERS: **Everything through the current season  
**DISCLAIMER: I own House, okay no I don't but I was going for the insanity defense. All lyrics not mine; all are Elvis Costello and are noted.**

**A/N: **Hi all :-) this is going to be a rather short story but I started if after watching Airborne and I liked the idea so I finished it off, I hope you enjoy and as always feedback is greatly, greatly appreciated! Thanks!!! RaeAnne

**Love & Other Four Letter Words**

_You've changed but not for the better babe  
I'd tell you why but what's the use  
'Cos it's the same kind of pity  
A drunkard gives as his excuse  
You were sharp and ideal as a bobby pin  
Now your eyes are deserted and quiet  
We both look like those poor shattered mannequins  
Thrown through the window in the riot_

_She lies in his arms and without any qualms  
Revels in shallow delights  
She seems brittle and small, it don't sound like her at all  
Since she came back to him after the fall—**Elvis Costello, After the Fall**_

**_---)(---Liar---)(---_**

She discovered a strange thing today, a thing that wasn't big yet certainly wasn't small. It was a thing that she had been looking unconsciously for for the better part of sixteen years; a thing which had eluded her till this very day.

Allison Cameron wasn't a vain person in the traditional sense of the word, she had, as she liked to call it, 'self-esteem' and that of course went hand in hand with having pride in one's self, or so she liked to believe. She believed herself to fairly pretty (modesty had her always attaching 'fairly' to her chosen adjective), she was smart (no need to add fairly to that, it was an indisputable fact, she had been in the top percent of her graduating class—she wasn't claiming to be the smartest after all), she was a good person, at least in the ways she measured goodness. Didn't smoke, didn't drink in excess, she helped elderly ladies across the street, she gave bonuses to her doorman at Christmas—remembered his birthday and always smiled at the people she passed no matter what her current mood. She believed that greatest thing one could strive for to make a difference every day, even if it was only a small one. She believed that the sum total of what life was was the memory you left for others.

Allison Cameron was naive.

Or, at least she had been. She sits now in her apartment a large glass of vodka and orange juice at hand and an ashtray with barely smoked Parliament lights pushed from her sight. She glares at the scarred table as she had glared at the doorman who let her into her apartment, the man at the liquor store who sold her the vodka, the grey haired lady who was certainly working at the Quick-E Mart because she couldn't live on social security alone, who sold her the orange juice. She thinks now with disdain and a bit of rueful regret on the woman she had been for now she is very much what she had always despised, she is a bitch.

She lifts the glass downing half of it in one long burning gulp—she'll wish she hadn't later. Truth. She used to like truth; she valued it—esteemed it highly, till she learned it was all lies. How, she wondered, did truth, something so certain and sure—so trustworthy and brilliantly white, turn into something so nastily black? Truth had once been clearly defined, now it was relative, it was…well it was really a lie. Truth: she had once been a very good girl. That truth was now very much a lie. She wasn't good; she had no desire to be. Truth: she had believed in love, she believed in waiting for the 'real' thing. That was now a tattered and torn lie scattered on her bed, Chases' bed, the sleep research lab bed, that elderly patients bed…the kitchen floor, the shower stall, the supply closet and a few other places she didn't care to recall. She's now become that other thing she had always looked down on other girls for, she's become a slut.

She swishes the remaining alcohol and juice around the heavy bottomed cup. Everybody lies, that is what he always said, and she pulls her mouth into a snarl thinking of 'him'. Truth: she hated him. Lie. She lied, she lied to him, she lied to herself (she was quite good at that one actually). Truth: he was a jackass. That was a lie—well half truth. He was very much a jackass but not the cold hearted bastard that everyone believed—that was the lie he was feeding the world. She hated that about him, she hated that she felt that he was giving two ideas—allowing her to see two sides, two contradicting, battling sides, and neither one was a whole truth or a part lie. She couldn't reconcile both sides to paint a complete picture. He made things lies, even truth.

Only he could make a 'non date' more romantic, more pleasant than a real date. Only he could make snarky accusation sound like lovely words of romantic prose. Only he could make her love him by making her hate him. He was the biggest anomaly in her life and yet he was the only thing that was constant, that made her feel okay. _'The most important letter of my life, and you're still an ass' _she had accused him when she had had the HIV scare, he had responded '_Comforting, isn't it?'_ Fact was…it had been—it was, but she would never tell him—she would always lie. It was comforting knowing that he was House, he didn't change, he was an ass, he was jerk—he was House no matter what. He didn't change for people…. Not even her.

She poured more vodka in her glass forgoing the addition of more juice, she didn't really want to soften the bite, didn't want to take out any of the harsh burning that stung her throat. She was starting to like it, starting to like the ache, was finding it maybe a little comforting. Pain was real, you could lie about the cause, you could talk yourself into feeling pain that was really nonexistent but even if everything surrounding the pain was a lie the _pain _was real, that basic feeling was real. She wanted to hurt tonight, really down deep hurt. It wasn't a masochistic desire—it was just a desperate attempt to making something real, making something that she understood.

She broke it off with Chase because it wasn't real. It was sex, and the sex was real good but it wasn't real in the sense that when she was doing it, it was reactionary, her body did what it was designed to do but it was her heart that she left shut away in a box on her shelf. He had become attached, that was unfortunate but not really her problem, she had warned him, told him straight out—there had been no shades of grey or shades of partial truth, it was plain. The only thing that she did lie about was her motives, and that lie was only to herself.

Foreman had started it, got her thinking about real, about relationships, about life. She had believed what she had with her first husband was real, was 'true love' but it wasn't. She just really wanted it to be.

True love. Lying Love. Just another way House had twisted her, corrupted her, skewed the way she looked at everything—even her marriage. He made her look at what she had considered 'true' love and see it as a lie, see it as a transparent needy attachment. He stole from her what little love she had had and she hated him for that—and that wasn't a lie.

Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to take everything good and turn it bad? Why did he have to take every truth she ever believed and make it a lie?

Puppies bite, cotton candy melts, caring doesn't matter, people are self serving. He taught her that love was a four letter word…so was hope.

Her glass was empty and she observed it with disappointed concentration. Her glass was half full—lie. Her glass was half empty—another lie. Was it even a glass? She laughed loudly, tipping more vodka into it till she filled it just over half then splashed it with juice—just for color, she thinks.

"Everybody lies…" she growls tipping the glass back. Her eyes water as the hot liquid slides down her throat. Her head feels like its spinning, she has an incredible urge to giggle. She's not drunk, not yet—she's got a fine buzz started though.

She grins sucking her bottom lip, she laughs uncontrollably. There is nothing really to laugh about, nothing is really funny—even her laughter is a lie, so she laughs all the harder.

She stands leaving her glass on the table, she stumbles to her bedroom falling face first into her bed—she still can't quit giggling, laughing. She doesn't want to be a liar anymore—she doesn't want to lie to herself anymore.

She laughs, she falls asleep.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Hope

**_---)(---Hope---)(---_**

_Time's running out. She's not happy with the cost.  
There'd be no doubt, only she's forgotten  
much more than she's lost.—**Elvis Costello, This Year's Girl**_

Allison Cameron rises from her bed at precisely 5:35 am, as she does every morning. The only remains from the night before are a slight headache and the ring on her table where glass had and still sits…these and the resolution she's made to herself.

She showers and dresses standing in front of the mirror, she surveys and contemplates. She's changed, changed more than she thought, she discovers. There is no kindness in her eyes, no warmth—no joy. The soft lines that have started to form aren't laugh lines, no they're scowl lines, ones she desperately wants to erase or even just ignore. She sighs long and low—she doesn't like what she sees, she doesn't like that the lies have eaten their way to the front.

She resolves to hope, to change, to overcome. She wants to go back, back to what she was—back to what she was before she was liar.

A black Sharpie catches her eye; it's rolled from somewhere unknown into the white and blue bathroom she picks it up thinking it a sign. Pulling off the cap she gains a brief whiff of the bitter acidic ink and it makes her eyes water. Leaning on tip-toe she stretches to scrawl in tall wide, slightly loopy script "I WILL NOT BE A LIAR". It's down on paper—well mirror, but perhaps that is better—even more permanent. It gives her a slight smile, the gesture is small but perhaps it's changing her already, she swears she feels a little lighter. She swears she feels that faint glittering of hope.

_**---)(---**_

"Dude, is there tension here…or is it just Chase?" House had been watching them through the window for the last ten minutes Cameron was sure as he came from his office to the conference room table.

"Three little ducklings all in a row…but wait, no, one little ducky is all by his self…hmmm. Trouble in duckling paradise?" he was verging on some of his sarcastic best.

"House…" she pipes in softly hoping to turn his focused attention.

"Yes, duckling number three who obviously stopped putting out to duckling number 2, hence his whipped browbeaten look, you have something to add?"

Allison Cameron of recent disposition would have kept quiet, would have let House rib and pry at Chase and derive some sick twisted pleasure from it. Allison Cameron of recent would have piped in with something scathing and snarky just to be ornery after House let up. But the Allison of old would have said nothing, done nothing, perhaps just glared and silently sympathized. But thankful the Allison Cameron of current had reverted to the Cameron of old but with the benefit of lessons learned from the Cameron or recent.

"We're not the case House, I think there is scared little girl in room five who would much rather we focused our efforts on curing her, instead of picking at somebody's bad morning…" her words were rough but her voice was soft, it was gentle and it tamed the beast—at least for the moment.

"Fine, Chase do some more of those tests that we do, Foreman go to her house do that thing that you do…Cameron, my office—and perhaps you can do that thing that you used to do with you-know-who," he shifted sly eyes toward Chase, "Oh and bring me some coffee while you're at it."

Foreman looked from Cameron to Chase and back again, he shook his head with bemused understanding. He left to check the house.

Chase didn't say anything or look anywhere as he went out of the conference room but Cameron just knew that he was hurting and she felt a little bad.

House's red coffee cup sat where it always did in the morning, right where she had put it at the end of yesterday, rinsed and upside down on the clean dishcloth. She had finally got smart after suffering a few pots of horrid coffee that were made on the seldom occasions when someone got in the office before she did, she bought a coffee pot with a self start timer. Every night she would rinse House's cup, put a new filter in the pot, and fill it with her special mix of Vienna and Komodo Dragon coffee then set the timer. The Diagnostic department never again suffered a lousy cup of coffee.

Coffee in hand she ventured toward the lion's den. She was actually kind of glad that he was giving her a reason to talk to him alone, not that she was really looking forward to it, but it had to be done and she was going to do it.

"Knock, knock," she said cheerily opening the door.

"Have you ever 'knock, knocked' the whole time you've been here?" House was leaning back in his chair twirling his cane as she entered.

She bit back a snotty retort, that wasn't her anymore, she wouldn't be that. "I was trying to be polite."

"So?" Politeness being a foreign concept to him.

"Here's your coffee," she put the mug on his desk in front him, if he kept it up he could try her best patients, beat her resolve.

He gave a nod of recognition though never stopped looking at her.

"Is there something wrong with my shirt, you keep staring." She was dangerously close to irritable but reined it in at the last possible second.

"You're different today."

She blinked too surprised to answer—at least coherently. "Wh…what do you mean?"

"What I said, you're different today."

It shouldn't surprise her that he notices, but it does. She can't figure out what to say, how to respond.

"And it's not just because you quit letting Wannabe Crocodile Dun-Dee put his shrimp in your barbie. There is something different about you and I'm not sure if I'm okay with it."

Now, Cameron of recent would start an argument on how who or what she did was none of his damn business—unless he had feelings for her. Cameron of past wouldn't have been screwing Chase to begin with so on that front the subject was moot. This Cameron of current wasn't exactly sure what to do, she wasn't yet sure of where in the middle her new person stood.

"You not as frigid as you have been recently…your wardrobe has suddenly perked up, even going a little Cuddy with the top… You have been smiling all morning and haven't said a backhanded word, your normal quota of recent being 5-10. If the circumstances were what they have been the last month I would come up with two pretty reliable diagnoses. One, being that I was in fact wrong about Chase that he wasn't made a eunuch as to sing in the Vienna Boys Choir when he was young and therefore got you _enceinte_ but seeing how you broke up with the schmuck I submit option two; you're hung-over which really wouldn't explain the near giddiness but we're going with it. However, while your eyes are slightly red, a sign you did indeed drink, you did not in fact get drunk enough to get a hang-over. You've left me quite the conundrum Dr. Cameron…"

She watched him carefully; he had put down his cane and was now drumming his fingers on the grey and red ball he had retrieved from the corner of his desk.

"I don't really see that it matters much… Maybe I'm just having a good day. Besides you don't know that I called it off with Chase—that's just your speculation."

"See, right there," House stood taking steps around his desk. "You think that just because you let your voice go all soft and squishy like a girl that the sting of your words isn't caught—_wrong_. I know you broke up with Chase; it's stamped on his forehead like a damn neon sign. So we can stand here arguing like a bad high school debate team on a subject we both know is pointless or you can tell me what sunshine flower crawled up your butt and bloomed."

Cameron's jaw dropped—then she laughed. "House…I am different, I feel different, I am making an effort to be different and you know what, it really shouldn't matter to you. I am going to check on Lindsey now okay?" she laughed again softly, her smile radiant as she turned to head out of the door.

House just stood there a bewildered look across his scruffy face.

"Hey! Wait," he called following a few seconds behind.

"House, I don't think I want to talk about this anymore…Go bug Wilson, I think he's got a new girlfriend—and I think you'd like her, might even know her…" she was laughing as she entered the elevator, a little voice checked her, that last Wilson comment might not have been the best choice—but she shrugged it off, she was still drawing lines so until they were firm she would allow a few slips.

"I don't want to bug Wilson—I want to bug you." He stopped the elevator door with his cane.

"You're wasting your time."

"Don't care." He entered stood beside her in silence as the elevator began to rise. "I'm going waste yours till you tell the truth," he added cane jutting out to slam the red emergency stop button.

"House…"

"What is going on…I can stand her a long time so you might as well make it easy and just tell me."

Cameron was very close to angry, inside she was burning with rage, rage that really was unfounded, at least in the degree that it was rearing. There were plenty of things that she would love to tell him, things she would love to vent, to rant, but she was trying not to be that person anymore. So instead she clenched her fists and tried to breathe.

"Hello…is everything alright? What is your emergency?" a thickly accented, slightly static voice filled the small space.

"Yes, thank you Jose, I'm with Dr. House who is just trying to hide from Dr. Cuddy, we'll engage the elevator in a minute."

"Oh, okay Dr. Cameron…have a good day…" Jose sounded confused but the click of the box let Cameron and House know he had hung up.

"You're on first name basis with the maintenance crew?" House was clearly surprised.

"That shocks you?" she lifted an eyebrow.

House frowned thinking, "No, actually it doesn't, you probably have lunch with them every Tuesday and every Thursday with Security…question is, where is Jose in the sexual rotation?"

She slapped him.

"Hmm, not sure where that fits into my differential but I just know it has to somewhere…" he rubbed his cheek absently an amused smile tugging.

"You're an ass…and to think I used to think that was comforting." She shrunk away from him crossing her arms across her chest.

"Oh, now that is telling…we are getting somewhere…"

"Can't you just leave me alone? Can't you be satisfied that you drive me insane? Can't you just be happy knowing that you won?"

His face shows shock for just a brief moment. "I didn't know we were even in competition, but it's good to know that I won—now I'd just like to know what exactly it is I've won."

She glared at him, she glared and she glared hard—it was too late to try and stop now he'd broke her resolve. "You want to know why I'm different, why I am trying to do everything in my power to _be _different? I'll tell you—"

"Oh good, since that is what I've been asking you to do…"

"House…you've made me liar. From moment I came to work for you you've made it your mission to break me, to tear away everything that makes me who I am. You've dissected every part of my life, personal and professional. You criticized my marriage to a man who's been dead over ten years, you rebuked my caring, and you've humiliated me and degraded me time and time again.

"I let you get at me, I let you get under my skin—I changed because of you! I let myself become jaded and hardened because of you! I mean come on House, can you say it wasn't your ultimate goal? I killed a man because of you…I let you change everything that was fundamental about me… I let you destroy me…" she pressed her lips tight with a shrug, "And I've decided that I'm not going to let you do it anymore. I don't like being a liar, I don't like lying to myself, which is what it feels like I'm doing because I know this isn't me, I'm not this person…I'm not."

He silently frowned at her.

"There it is. I should thank you though," her voice said she'd really rather not, "I did learn valuable lessons from you, I mean my experiences have given me a backbone, I'm not going to let myself be the doormat but I'm not going to be you either. And _that _is the most valuable lesson I take; don't become a sick, twisted, misanthrope, cynical, alone bastard…and I was getting close." She hates that she hears the snide anger in her voice; she didn't want to be that anymore.

He still didn't say anything; he looked at her expression passively blank.

"Oh, so now you are going to be the silent thing…fine, but I really need to get back to work." She stepped to push the stop button. He blocked her with his cane.

"Just like that…you think you can 'fix' yourself just like that?"

She stiffened, his voice was low and so quiet she almost didn't hear it, yet it was so loud it pounded in her ears. "Admission…isn't that the first step to recovery?" she matched him.

"Yeah well we all have problems but since you don't believe in God you're going to be screwed when it comes to step two. And blaming other people isn't really admitting you have a problem, it's pointing out theirs."

"I allowed you to influence me, I know it's my fault, I don't dispute that."

"I've made you a better doctor." He pointed out staring down at her.

"You've made a worse person. I'm sorry I'd rather be a slightly less great doctor but a whole, genuine person. I may end up lacking your suspicious, pessimistic tendencies which I'll admit help make you the best diagnostician in the country and I may not ever be able to look in the face of a parent whose' child dying and call them a liar, like you do so well but I'll be able to hold their hand, give them comfort and still figure out what's wrong."

"If you believe that you're not just naive you're an idiot."

"I'm idealistic and I won't apologize for that. I am choosing to believe that I can be a good person and a good doctor; I am choosing to believe that I can be honest…that while most everyone at some point lies, I don't have to."

He stared at her eyes holding hers, she wasn't teary and he had expected her to be. She wasn't angry, as he had thought she would be. She was resolved—and that was the last thing he had expected.

He dropped his cane letting her go by to turn the elevator back on.

* * *

TBC 


	3. Love

**_---)(---Love---)(---_**

_Hand in Hand.  
No, don't ask me  
to apologize.  
I won't ask you to forgive me.  
If I'm gonna go down,  
You're gonna come with me**—Elvis Costello, Hand In Hand**_

Gregory House believed in himself. He didn't trust, didn't believe people were capable of selfless acts. It wasn't just curmudgeon cynicism as most believed, it was experience hard learned. He hadn't always been so jaded, certainly not. He had given people plenty of chances and every time they failed…and that was hardly his fault. People were self centered, self preserving, it was nature and he wasn't going apologize from bursting peoples naïve bubbles. Why should he lie, go along, agree with peoples bullshit beliefs that humanity was good when clearly it wasn't? He believed in himself, he was straight up and if people didn't like it then that was just too damn bad—at least he was honest about being a jerk.

_'You've made me a liar…'_ He didn't know why her words were stinging it wasn't like he had let anything she had ever said before bother him. Sure there had been a few little comments from her that had stuck in his ears but that was just because her voice was so annoying that it jumbled wires for a good long while—not because she had said anything really significant.

_'You just couldn't love me…'_

_'You asked me why I like you…you're abrasive and rude but I figured that everything you do you do it to help people—but I was wrong, you do it because it's right…'_

_'Goodbye House'_

Yeah, he was sure it was just because she had that grating voice that her words hung around.

She was playing all high and mighty all of a sudden, being pious, touting righteous indignation about him making her a 'liar', she had some issues.

He didn't care about Cameron any more than any boss cared for their employees so it shouldn't bother him that she was angry with him…it shouldn't make him glad that she had stopped having sex with Chase…it shouldn't have made him feel that strain of possessiveness flare in his blood stream in the first place.

She was beautiful, and he tried not to use that word because it came with attachments he didn't care for. When describing aesthetically pleasing DNA blessed (or collagen enhanced) women he liked the word 'hot', it was a straight forward word that described her body, her looks—only. But beautiful, beautiful stirred up more murky images, more complicated romantic notions. Beautiful was a word that was just too damn implying. But she was beautiful, he thought watching her through the glass windows talking with the parents of their latest patient, it was good news—their daughter was going to be okay.

She glowed, he observed with disgust. She was reclaiming her halo and it made him sick. Her smile was lighting the whole room, her tender voice rippled and her warmth was suffocating. He didn't like it…didn't like the way she became all but a saint—he didn't like her like that….it made him all the more aware he was a tainted damaged sinner.

"House…" she jumped a little as she came out of the open door to find him standing there.

"What made you decide all of a sudden to change, dump Chase and do the saint act?" he leaned heavily on his cane.

Her glaze fell to the floor. "Don't look at the floor, it can't talk…answer me, look at me!"

She looked up, "Can't you just let it be?"

"Obviously not."

"Fine—fine," she folded her arms resigned, "I decided I wasn't happy with who I was when I got in my car to drive home alone after telling Chase I couldn't sleep with him anymore because he wanted more, he wanted a relationship and I didn't. It all just hit me, all the changes…I was hurting people because I myself was hurting. I don't want to hurt anybody anymore; I don't want to hurt anymore."

"Do you still hate me?"

She looked confused eyes crinkling in the corners, "What?"

"Don't you remember, you told me you'd joined the bandwagon…that you hated me…So do you still?"

It took a minute but she pulled the memory from her mental file, "House I was angry when I said that…I've never hated you…I don't hate you—sometimes I wish I could…" she started to laugh but found she really didn't feel like it.

"Okay…" he nodded thoughtfully, he started to walk away.

"That's it? You're just going to walk away?"

"Yep, figured I'd go first this time since you know, normally it's me chasing you down—just giving myself a head start."

She followed, "What are you talking about?" she demanded always a little surprised that he could move so fast in spite of the cane.

"It's me, I'm always chasing you down, you're always the one running—figured you were just rubbing it in," he gestured to his cane with his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Course you don't. Haven't you ever noticed that it's always you running? You get some sort of kick from making men chase you. Take for example the situation of you supposedly wanting a 'relationship' with me, you thought yourself the aggressor but really if you think about it, it was me, I had to jump through the hoops, I had to chase you and I didn't even want the damn thing.

"You quit your job then force me to hunt you down and beg you to take it back…hell I had to play the 'pretty please game' with you to go to the damn monster trucks with me! You go cry in the lab so I will come find you and ask what's wrong. You march off on moral high horses so I'll follow to bring you back.

"It's about the chase with you, you don't really want me to catch you, you want to play the game. After I was shot, I asked you out, you refused, I was getting too close, I had almost caught you. You want me or really anyone, take Chase for another example, to chase you, climb your walls like some damn prince charming. But when we get close, when we've fought back all the prickly thorns and slain the dragon to reach your tower instead of putting out like any decent princess you run to lock yourself away telling us to perform yet another task… That's what this is about, this turning over a new/old leaf—it's about pushing everybody away. Guess what Cameron, you are me already…you just use pretty movements to cover up your ugly motives. You're just as alone as I am…just as damaged, just as much a sinner."

Her mouth hung, her eyes were cold.

"What, don't like that?"

"Your first mistake House was thinking me royalty, I am no princess, I'm no saint either—I am not you—I will not be—and you House are anything but charming…" she started to walk away but turned "and I don't ever remember asking you to scale my wall or you ever wanting me to 'put out'." She turned away lab coat swishing slightly behind her.

_**---)(---**_

"You shouldn't drink and drive." She stood in the doorway of his office leaning against the jamb.

House didn't look up from his scotch. "You shouldn't mess in affairs that are none of your business."

She sighed walking in; the office was dark only the street lamps outside reflecting in kept the curtained off office from total darkness. Everyone had gone home—everyone one but him and her apparently.

"It's after eleven House…you should go home, get some sleep."

"I don't like you."

She sighed again, "I know, you've told me that before—I get it," she smiles softly sitting a hip on the front edge of his desk.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry…" he kept staring at his glass of amber colored liquid.

"I'm not asking you to," she spun his oversized tennis ball with the tips of her fingers "I've never asked you apologize for who you are…" she pauses looking up to him, she wants him to look at her but he refuses. "You know it's kind of silly but I was jealous of Ali, that seventeen year old girl who was infatuated with you—I was jealous that you wanted her…That you thought I didn't accept you...I have always accepted you, always—" she finally gets him to look up. "But I also believe you can be more if you want…That you are more than the caustic person you try to be. I told you I can't hate you and I mean it, you are an amazing man, brilliant, dedicated and despite your façade, caring…"

"That's not accepting, that's denial."

"No House, you're wrong, I accept you but I don't believe in stagnation. I know you want someone who will just let you be, won't challenge you, won't ask anything of you and that's okay, really it is, I really do understand."

"You still love me then?" he sits his glass on his desk leaning forward almost like was eager to hear her answer.

"Yeah, I do—much rather not, obviously, makes things awkward but I discovered last night, before I started a bottle of vodka, that despite my attempts at lying to everyone and myself, I am very much in love with you," she shrugs, "and it is a different kind of 'love', different than the blind love I had for you when I first started here, different than any love I have ever had for any man, even my husband. The love I discovered I have for you is the deep wholly consuming, a damning/saving kind of love. Not the lusty heat of the moment love but the staying sturdy kind that will survive the years."

He looked at her like she had three heads; he was at a complete and total loss for words.

"It's funny, I hadn't even realized I was looking for 'true love', I honestly had thought I had found it with Brian but while that was a beautiful love it wasn't 'it'. I had always thought that one could have more than one 'true love' if you lost the first but I was wrong—you only get one. And I know you don't want to hear this but it's true--you're mine."

He regained composure, and downed the rest of his scotch, "Huh, I always that kind of realization came with happy dances, gushes of laughter, flowers and cherubs with bows and candy." She wasn't dancing, she wasn't even grinning like a loon, she was just calm and nonchalant.

"So did I, but mine comes with a cane and a snarky comeback."

He can't help but smile, "Lucky you, your Fairy Godmother must be blind as well—I'm old enough to be your father."

"Hmm, maybe I was wrong, maybe I'm not in love with you, I just have daddy issues." She's smiling now.

"That would make more sense, that or food poisoning, I mean the Ali had…" he started but she had a strange look on her face that made him, for some reason, shut up.

"No—it's not either of those, it's exactly what I said it was. But you're right I too believed it would have come with some ecstatic jumping at the very least, but it didn't, it just sort of washed over me like a wave of right, a wave of knowing and it just…_was_. But don't worry I'm not asking you to do anything, I'm actually okay with this—" she laughs "Everything is starting to go back to okay, I'm taking control of my life and for the first time in a long time, I'm okay, really okay." She hops from his desk looking satisfied and happy.

"You're just going to walk out the door after saying something like that?" he stands prepared to chase her like he always does.

She turns, "There's really not much else for me to do…besides isn't that what you say I do best, walk away?" there's no malice just acceptance.

"Yeah, but do you really want to just leave it like this?" he's floundering for something, anything to say but finds his vast repertoire has nothing fitting.

"What other way would there be?"

"I don't know but this doesn't feel resolved…" he brushes a hand through his hair, she notes this—it's a nervous gesture, but not one he's ever been prone to.

"Maybe it's not, but for tonight I think we're done." She takes a few steps back to him standing beside his desk. "I love you House—you can do with that what you will," she grins and brushes a quick light kiss to cheek.

Before he can even register it she's gone and his door is swinging shut.

* * *

TBC 


	4. Truth

_**---)(---Truth---)(---**_

_There's a part of this feeling that I just cannot kill  
But the name of this thing is not love  
And I can't take a potion, and I won't take a pill  
So it tortures me still  
But the name of this thing is not love_  
—_**Elvis Costello, The Name of This Thing Is Not Love**_

He really didn't want to think about her, he really would rather drink himself into oblivion—or hell even put himself into a nice drug induced sleep that would with any luck dull, if not block, his mind from calling her and soft lips up, but Gregory House was owned by his need to solve puzzles, and Allison Cameron was, if nothing else, a puzzle.

Allison Cameron was not someone he wanted to love, but there wasn't really much a threat of that, it was just that there was something about her that conjured a feeling that while certainly not love, was something he wasn't at all comfortable with. He didn't like that he, like he told her, would always chase her down, bring her back. He would fight for her and that sickened him. He had compared many people, many women, to her when she had quit, part of him had been thrilled at the possibility of replacing her because even then he could feel himself becoming attached. Turned out not only had he been attached he had been completely ensnared. Not a single woman could compare, not a single one was his Cameron. But that didn't mean he loved her, no, not at all—he just wasn't all that comfortable with change.

She was beautiful and he really couldn't think of another woman who was as gentle as she was. She always wanted to do what was ethical which while it irked him he also found it kind of sweet…but that didn't mean he loved her, no, just meant he liked having someone who checked him, challenged him—that was it, he liked challenges.

She was soft, squishy--she was a girl and wasn't ashamed of that fact...and he liked that she wasn't. He liked that she wore her hair long in soft curls, that she wore heels and blushed a little when he cursed. He liked that while she was hard steel when challenged she wasn't afraid to be gentle--to be soft after she had won her battle. But that didn't mean he loved her--no, it just meant that he was a guy--that was all. If he was going to be honest with himself—which he tried not to be too often because in his case truth could be harmful—that was why he wasn't sorry to see her ice up, see her harden, it made it easier for him to lie…It wounded something inside of him to see her break--to be the one to break her but he was selfish—he was a selfish bastard, and it was better for him to make her break. Then it wasn't tempting, it wasn't as wrenching.

He hated the image of Chase putting his hands on her, but that was just because she was his—his employee, his immunologist—his. Hadn't he made that clear?

She was in love with him.

That shocked the hell out of him. Not that it should have, she had said she liked him before, but this was different. This was the resolute kind of love that was just matter of fact. This was the kind of love that was dangerous because it wasn't flashy or demanding, it was giving and self sacrificing…it was the 'true love' that's sole purpose was to make the object of one's devotion happy…to have them close, to share space to just be…

"Shit."

House slammed his fist into his coffee table. He was in love with Cameron. "Damn it, damn it!" he cursed. He had been so good at pushing anything remotely heavy, even the slightest bit emotional away keeping it hidden under his sarcasm, but there it was, he was in love her. And it was all because she decided she couldn't be a liar..._'And why the hell not?' _he asked himself, he had been doing it, he was lying to himself, it wasn't that hard...But no, she had to go and make things all confusing and complicated by deciding to be all truthful.

Well, he figured now that he was doomed anyway he might as well drink…or he could call her up and who knew, maybe he could get lucky—there had to be perks to being in love with a woman who was in love with you...

"Cameron—what are you doing?" he snarked into the receiver when she answered.

"It's three in the morning, what do you think I'm doing?"

"Get over here; I need to talk to you."

"Isn't that what Bell had in mind when he invented the phone…talking?"

He could hear her pulling on clothes even while she grumbled.

"Yeah and while the idea of phone sex is hot what I had in mind is much more fun in person."

_**---)(---**_

"What is going on here House? Why am on your doorstep at…" Cameron glanced at her watch, "3:30 in the morning?"

"Because I asked you to come here…and you uh, did."

"Goodbye House." She spun marching away not at all in the mood.

"Wait—wait—Dammit Cameron wait a second!" he limped out the door managing to grab a hold of her grey pea coat spinning her around. "I said wait…" he said it little too loudly. Unable to stop his awkward forward momentum as she stopped in front of him he sort of fell into her.

"I stopped, you don't have to squish me…" she grumbled pushing away from his chest.

"Hey take it easy with the cripple…" he gripped her waist feeling unbalanced—he told himself it was from the collision not the sight of her in low cut baby blue yoga pants and the white tank top which she wore braless…

"House…" she stepped back pulling her jacket tight around her, covering herself, his eyes were blatantly focused on her chest.

"Huh…?" he finally looked up.

"Eyes here big guy," she grinned.

He obliged, "I totally forgot what I called you over here for…" his eyes kept creeping down, "So how about we have sex…yeah?"

She blinked, "Excuse me?"

"You know me, you, doing the nasty…Yes?" She was shaking her head at him. "Or no…" he nodded in the affirmative while his words were not.

"Hey—keep it down out there, people are trying to sleep!" a head came out from the apartment down the hall.

"Yeah, yeah," House grumbled taking Cameron by the arm pulling her back to his apartment.

The door closed on them and Cameron was stumped, "House, how many vicodin have you taken? Have you been drinking?" she looked over him with clinical inquisition.

"No dammit, I haven't taken too many pills—okay maybe I have, but this isn't because of that…would you get away from me stop trying to feel my forehead--I don't have a fever, sit down or something!" he paced in front of the couch she sat on with clear confusion.

"House I have absolutely no idea what is going on…Why don't you quit pacing and try using your words…"

He stopped, he turned, he looked at her, "Did you just tell me to 'use my words'?" he was grinning widely.

"Well it seemed prudent…"

"I don't like you…"

"Yes, I know we've—"

"You didn't let me finish—I don't like you—I love you."

"What?" she dropped her mouth to the floor.

"You heard me."

"Yeah I did, which is why I am very confused."

"You want me to spell it out?"

"That would be helpful yes."

"Fine…I l-o-v-e, u"

"That's not…"

"Yeah, I know, but I'm not really too keen on explaining everything right now so can't you just take my word for it?"

"House you really need to tell me what medications you are taking so I can figure out what's causing the interaction…" she frowned most serious.

"Are you thick tonight or what? I'm not high—this is me on love…maybe you see now why I try and abstain from it, I'm not pleasant when in love."

"Okay—I'll go along, just till I figure out what's going on. Why are you under the impression you're in love with me?" she took the position of therapist.

"You really want to do this, like this?" he lowered himself into a chair. "Okay—we'll do it that way. I am sure I love you because you drive me up a wall. Because I've been comparing every woman I've met to you…and have found them all wanting. I'm sure I love you because even though your morals and ethics make me want to punch something I am grateful for your contradiction. I am sure I love you because for the first time since high school I have felt the need to beat to a pulp a guy who put his hands on a girl I deemed to be 'mine'. You make me crazy—you make me tell the truth--when I would so rather lie, that's how I know I love you."

"Wow…" she leaned forward on her knees trying to keep her breathing normal. "Wow…"

"Tell me about it…" he pushed out of the chair going to his liquor cabinet. He poured two glasses of scotch, he kept his straight he added a splash of water to hers.

"How come you are telling me this now…? How did you go from not even liking me to loving me…how did you go from treating me like the last woman you'd have in your life to…to this? You can't be serious…"

"You wouldn't think but you threw me a curve ball today," he handed her a glass. "You changed the game." He downed his glass and refilled it.

"What do we do now?" she wrapped her hands around the glass squeezing it like it was her lifeline. She looked up at him eyes wide, but not as wide open as her heart.

"I was thinking we could have sex, like I mentioned before…but well we don't have to…but I'd sure like to…"

She put her untouched scotch on the table rising slowly to stand with him. "But this isn't just a ploy to get me into bed right?" she ran her hands along the waist of his loose sweatpants; she splayed them on his firm abs.

"Would I really go through the effort? I could order someone who looked pretty close to you…Oh hello," he choked a groan as her hands went under his t-shirt and the lower part of her body was pressed very intimately against his.

"Hello…" she bit her lower lip hooking her thumbs into the drawstring waistband of his pants drawing him even closer, "You won't mention the order-a-girl again okay?" she nudged under his chin, her lips almost kissing his neck.

"Never—ever…" his arms wrapped around her.

"Good. Now, I'm thinking we better head to the bedroom."

"Yeah…that sounds like a good, no, brilliant idea." He lifted his hands from her waist to frame her face. Their eyes met and more was said in split seconds then ever had been said with their inadequate vocabulary. His mouth crushed hers.

_**---)(---**__**  
**_

"Truth…now that's not a four letter word…" she muses, tracing circles on his bare chest.

"No it's not...neither is sex or G-Spot but they are still good words," he wraps his arms around her a little tighter not caring that he hadn't a clue what she meant by truth not being a four letter word.

She giggles kissing the places where her fingers had teased shapes. "I love you House."

"I know you do and damned if I don't love you too…"

"You don't have to sound so pained by that idea," she leans up looking into his eyes, she finds them laughing.

"You're a vixen, a beguiling witch of a woman…" he grins with a chuckle and in a quick motion flips her to her back. "You're also a puzzle...which I might have to warn you, could be the reason I love you."

"That's okay, I'm a girl--we're mostly just one big confusing mess anyway, it won't be hard keeping you interested with something to figure out. Besides, if you were just looking for a puzzle you could have just went down to the 99 Cent store and bought a dozen..."

His kisses over her neck, the nipping of her clavicle makes it momentarily hard to think, so instead she moans.

"When you were a kid did you ever imagine that you'd end up with a guy like me? Or did you picture a dashing prince?" he questions between kisses.

"I dreamed of castles, unicorns and fairy tales…" He captured her hands above her head. "Though I was never cut out to be a princess…but House…" she stops him wanting to see his face, "I never wanted a prince…I wanted a knight, I wanted someone who would fight for me, who would fight to keep me—not give me up to the pansy prince," she grins arching up to kiss him, "You're my knight."

"Yeah…?"

"Yeah."

"Well babe, I'm going storm the castle—that okay with you?"

"Oh, you think I'm just going to let you in without a fight?" She catches him off guard managing to reverse their positions, "I think it's my turn to figure out what makes you tick..."

_Puzzle pieces. In a mess of chaos strewn about the room a picture is being put together but two pieces are without a place. Similar in shape and color, they are opposites or perhaps mirror images of each other… Puzzle pieces that don't fit anywhere yet continually try to fit themselves in niches where they just don't go. Puzzle pieces scattered across the room…puzzle pieces, never right, never true till they come together— and then it's whole, it's absolute—it's home. Puzzle pieces._

**END**


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